


The Forever Before You

by Oaklin



Series: Forever Everything [59]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: (not exactly?), (sort of), (that he refuses to actually deal with), Beige Prose, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama Llama, Internal Conflict, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Melodrama, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, aggressive affection, bby!Steen Has Massive Fucking Issues, good lord the Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, obligatory Kevin Steen warning, purple prose?, stealth angst, stealth romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11534001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaklin/pseuds/Oaklin
Summary: One day, his path will be littered with the fallen dreams of who he once was.Sometimes, he longs for the light that used to dot the road behind him. The struggle forward into the bright future makes him weary of these nights.





	The Forever Before You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> How was everyone's week? Mine was busy af, I spent most of it traveling. Which I guess turned out alright, because it meant I could catch up on all the Pro Wrestling drama that has been going down lately. I think I've watched more wrestling this last week than I have in many years. Jesus, I feel like I'm on wrestling overload. Although, most of it wasn't The Dubs, I will admit. I don't watch whole WWE shows anymore, I just skim highlights from Smackdown, Raw and Pay-Per-Views, so this week was mostly spent submersing myself in non-Dubs soap opera nonsense (of which there was some _high quality_ going around this week, with all the o/ and the *.*) peppered with some good old Indy drama llamas. Which, as it just so happens, I need to go get caught up on for today, so I'll just leave you with a melodrama warning because-
> 
> **_Speaking_** of Indy drama llamas, this fic has plenty of those. Brace thyself for all sorts of melodrama and internal hyperventilating, with a heaping dose of bby!Steen being his usual little self ;)
> 
> Hope you like it!

That fateful melody echoes through his mind, the sharp chime of metallic defeat bouncing off the walls of the inside of his skull. The song of it spinning through his cranium until it is all he can hear. He is sure, for a heartbeat, that it will drive him mad, make him fall off the edge of that ever-so-tempting abyss and force him to finally completely lose it like he has always ( _feared?_ ) he would. He breathes, snapping his neck in pent up, impotent frustration, the anger swelling to a threatening crescendo as he broods.

His fingers feel **empty** , the cool metal and scratchy leather absent from their grasp. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together, **_aching_ ** for the shiny, precious prize and the heavy burden that went with it. The weight of it, while lifted form his shoulders, does not make him feel free. He feels loose and un-tethered, like a stray piece of burnt cloth flapping helplessly in the wind, devoid of anything to hold it in place or keep it from being snatched away by an errant gust of wind.

He closes his eyes against the ringing and the helplessly lost wandering of his thoughts, wishing only for his mind to silence itself so that he could be granted some goddamn peace in these agonizing times. Such is not the way of his world though, and his thoughts do not quiet, nor do his feelings settle into something other than hopeless despair.

( _anything_ )

( **anything** other than **_this_** )

- _hurts_ -

(fuck)

He _needs_ -

He realizes, dully, that he does not know what he **needs**. Or what he **_wants_**. He only knows that he hates **this** , but he does not know what to do about that. Or about anything else, for that matter. So he just sits there, in the cold, relentless darkness, waiting for something that is not coming, and seething with a fury that has no outlet.

- _just go back out there and_ -

(pointless)

(god damn it)

A thick wave of helplessness rolls revoltingly down his throat, burning a path through his esophagus that has him grinding down on a gag. Fingers clenching until he feels hot warmth trailing down his palms, he glares at the wall opposite him, debating the truth of the matter.

Because if he is being honest, this situation may or may not be of his own doing-

(well)

(...)

- _coward_ -

-and this situation may also be irreversible. At least for now. Because there is still that fucking CZW match in a week, and he **_hates it_** with all of his fucking soul, but if he focuses on that, then _maybe_ -

(fuck)

(it doesn't **matter** )

- _yes it fucking **does**_ -

Even more repugnant, he is not even sure, at this point, that he wants that grimy ass belt back. He doesn’t even really want to put in the effort of going to get his title back from that thieving piece of shit, and even if he did, he can barely scrape together the confidence that it would mean anything if he put in the time to do so.

That and at the present moment, he wouldn’t know how to make his legs work to get up for that kind of thing in the first place.

- _no_ -

(just-)

- ** _want_** -

(doesn’t matter)

- ** _it fucking does matter_** -

He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, baring down on the spiraling thoughts spinning wildly through his head, drowning out everything else beside their incessant screeching. It churns in his gut, making him slightly sick with the nauseating roiling of it all. He contemplates getting up and finding something to punch, maybe that asshole that started all this, or perhaps the one who-

(no.)

He _needs_ -

(fuck)

“Kevin?”

( **shit** )

(not the fucking **_time_** )

- _always_ -

(shut up)

- ** _forever_** -

Kevin reaches up and rubs a hand across his face, hoping that the figure tentatively approaching him will disappear if he looks away long enough.

“Kevin, are you okay?”

No such luck.

Kevin draws in a sharp breath, sucking the air through his aching lips and attempting to deliberately relax, with minimal success. Dropping his hand back to rest on the floor, he raises his head, blinking up at all the glorious resplendence shuffling around anxiously in front of him, the blurriness in his vision tempering the blinding light a bit.

Not enough, of course.

- _ **never** enough_ -

(no)

“Kevin, what-”

“Shut up,” Kevin says quietly, his voice coming out of his mouth with a warble, his tone dry and thin, like the-

-losslosslosslossloss-

( _fuck_ )

( **stop** )

( ** _shit_** )

-like earlier had rendered him incapable of clear, concise speech. Silence reins for a strained heartbeat, the gulf of different types of - _need_ \- and - **want** \- separating them with a stark contrast that Kevin had never taken the time to appreciate before.

Sami shuffles, for some reason Kevin’s scrutiny seeming to make him uncomfortable. Kevin wonders idly if Sami is feeling the burning - ** _need_** \- that Kevin always feels, he wonders if that is why Sami is shuffling nervously as he stands there. Kevin wonders if that is why Sami can’t look Kevin in the eye in moments like these. If it is because Sami is just as entrapped in their-

- _forever_ -

(yes)

( _maybe_ )

( **wait** )

- ** _forever_** -

( ** _fuck_** )

Kevin clears his throat, but doesn’t bother to give the admonishment another try, feeling as if the moment had passed and that Sami would be quiet for at least a few moments. He doesn’t bother to get up or say anything else, either, instead opting to sit there on the floor and stare.

It is such a great view, after all.

“I saw the um- are you okay? You kinda stumbled back here looking-”

God.

Does he ever shut the fuck up?

- _don't want him to_ -

- _not really_ -

(the fuck)

(noisy, obnoxious asshole that can’t keep his goddamn trap shut for-)

- _melodious_ -

- _iridescent_ -

- _ **luminous joy** of the_ -

No.

Rejecting the bright spots Sami brings with him everywhere he goes, like some sort of demented jester, Kevin shakes off the internal tantrum and levels a hard look at Sami, watching the other man lose his train of thought and trail off, looking lost and slightly wary.

( _good_ )

( _you **should** be **afraid**_ )

“Get the fuck out of here. I’m not in the mood for your shit right now.”

That feels so _good_ to say, for reasons that Kevin cannot think of words for. It feels freeing though, which is actually a bad thing, when he contemplates it more, as he already feels like he is free falling without a harness or a parachute.

The floor beneath him is cold and unmoving, as Kevin digs his fingers into the slick tile, feeling like the world is tilting on it’s axis as he sits there and tries not to scream with a combination of frustration and **desire** to-

(goddamnit)

- _want_ -

( ** _no_** )

- _ **take**_ -

(no.)

“Kevin, come on. Don’t be like that. I could help you if you would only let me _try_.”

God, **_his_ ** fucking **_voice_**.

So fucking chipper, with that goddamn luminous lilt, even when he is being somber, like in this moment. Because even when Sami is serious, even when he is tempering himself down, bringing himself back down from the heavens to comfort the peasants who sleep in the darkest parts of the night, Sami is so radiantly alive and full of the purest brilliance that Kevin cannot help but be blinded by the glow of the ginger idiot. The incandescence of Sami’s soul seems to create some sort of blast radius around him, burning Kevin even when they are not touching, even when Sami is only speaking, the words coming out of his mouth slicing away at Kevin like hot steel.

(and that right there is the issue)

- _forever_ -

( **exactly** )

“You can’t help me,” Kevin bites out, something hot rising up n his chest, that feels a lot like anger.

- ** _not_** -

(doesn’t **_matter_** )

“If I needed someone incompetent to help me, I would go get Excess to teach me a moonsault or something.”

(anger is easier)

- _anger hurts less_ -

- ** _coward_** -

(not)

(fuck you)

And man, if Kevin knew that uttering those words (what words had just come out of his mouth?) would make Sami make _that face_ , Kevin would have considered saying whatever throwaway statement he had just growled out, a lot sooner than just now. As soon as the words leave Kevin’s lips (and subsequently drain out of his short term memory, like blood out of one’s palm) Sami’s whole fucking face lights up with barely restrained resentment. Kevin squints, trying to make sense of the reaction, breathing through the even more strained silence, watching Sami silently brood in the dim lights of the hallway.

Oddly enough, the light only seems to shine brighter when Sami is mad.

(Kevin _really_ wishes he could parse out exactly why Sami is so angry)

- _want **him** like this **all the time**_ -

The view is even better, somehow.

“You don’t _ever_ need to-” Sami starts hotly, his eyes alight with that inferno that makes Kevin's head spin and his brain short circuit.

(shit)

Kevin decides, abruptly, that he is very done with this conversation. He has never been so done with a conversation, in fact. In a split second, he also decides that not only is he done with this conversation, he is also done speaking period, if he can help it. His brain hurts and his adrenaline is far too overpowering to sleep, so the next best thing is-

- ** _want_** -

( _fine_ )

“Kevin! What the hell-!”

Sami gets his arms up in time to evade the superkick, but Kevin manages to catch him around the waist before Sami bolts down the hallway. The concrete wall is cold and unforgiving as they struggle into it, the two of them fighting for control of the situation. Sami gets a foot hooked behind Kevin’s ankle but Kevin uses the opportunity to throw Sami off balance and drive him into the wall, shoving him into the peeling paint with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

Sami lets out a pained little noise that makes Kevin contemplate letting him go, despite the steady stream of - ** _want_** \- fueling his desire to keep Sami exactly where is is. Sami has _other_ ideas, because of **course** he does, he wouldn’t be and _idiot_ other wise.

- _worthy_ -

(...maybe)

- _here_ -

( _everywhere_ )

Kevin lets out a slightly hysterical laugh as they awkwardly crash to the ground, Sami’s elbows digging into Kevin’s ribs and Sami’s fingers cutting off his air. He winces only slightly when they hit the ground, wondering what sorts of **bruises** he will earn from this exchange, and contemplating if they will make his stomach churn like the ones he got earlier.

(probably not)

“Didn’t think you were a choker. Is that your thing, or do you just like leaving fingerprints all over someone’s jugular?”

Kevin asks the breathless question more out of spontaneous curiosity than anything else. He barely has the breath to ask it at all, the brief scuffle and the fall having taken the air right out of his lungs more than the tantalizing squeeze of Sami’s palm against his throat.

Sami lays against, him, having fallen haphazardly onto of Kevin, and for reasons that should probably bother Kevin, Sami has yet to get up. He just lays there, panting, looking wild eyed and slightly frightened, though Kevin detects a strain of excitement under the fear and adrenaline that makes the - ** _want_** \- flair up with more ferocity than Kevin thought he had in him after the exhausting last few moments.

“You slammed me into a wall!” Sami gasps at last, levering himself up, his forearms planted against Kevin’s chest so that he can glare viciously down at Kevin with a fire in the depths of his hazel eyes that makes Kevin’s blood sing.

Kevin only belatedly realizes that they have long since left Not Good far behind.

- _you think?_ -

At this point, he isn’t sure where they are on a scale of 'Fine' to 'Disaster Of Catastrophic Proportions', but he is sure that they are at least headed downward.

“I did. It felt good, too,” Kevin says unapologetically, gazing steadily up at Sami, marveling at how settled he feels all off a sudden, “Do you want to go take a nap in the car by any chance? Or right here works to. I’m suddenly really up for a snooze.”

Sami’s face falls, a blank look stealing his features for a moment before complete confusions blossoms across his face, making Kevin chuckle helplessly out loud in sheer amusement at Sami’s expense. Sami responds by pressing his forearms into Kevin’s chest and leaning close, only stuttering slightly as he speaks, clearly still flustered with the situation.

“Goddamn you Kevin, I was only trying to-”

“You said you wanted to help,” Kevin says, reaching up and butting his head against Sami’s, watching the moron’s eyes light up at the action, “I **_needed_ ** that. Thanks.”

That shuts Sami up, rather effectively, leaving him practically mute but for stilted stammering, looking flushed and-

( _nope_ )

( **no.** )

( ** _too much_** )

“That wasn’t really what I meant by help. But I’m glad you- that you feel better,” Sami mumbles, looking at Kevin with something sparkling deep in his eyes that Kevin finds he has a hard time staring into.

Which, to be fair, is probably a good thing.

(no shit)

(will never end well)

- _always_ -

“For now,” Kevin concedes, bracing himself as Sami attempts to lever himself up into a standing position.

“Come on then, you adrenaline crazed mercenary,” Sami says, reaching out and hauling Kevin up with him as he stands, “A nap in the car sound excellent after that whole fiasco. As long as you promise not to slam me into anymore walls.”

“I’m done with that for today, don’t worry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I am aware that Kevin-the-person himself does not feel this intensely about belts or prizes. He feels grateful for them, obviously, but hampered and bogged down creatively because he feels obligated to make all his story arcs and character motivations orbit the belt, instead of branching off and risking taking the focus off the championship. Which, I respect, especially giving WWE's tendency to treat their belts like shit. That being said, this is a non-meta interpretation of his characters reaction to losing a championship belt. Or, at least the way I feel my fic!Steen would react to losing a prize in this particular time period in the series. This is not the last time this will happen. Yes, it does get much worse, as dysfunctional as this was.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and have a good week!


End file.
